Facta Non Verba
by JonasGrant
Summary: The Canadian Joint Task Force 2 is rumoured to be the best counter-terrorist unit in the world, true or not, its operators are clearly top level war fighters, but they are still just people and in post-apocalypsia, shooting skills alone won't cut it.


Wozniak picked up a fully loaded C-mag from the stainless steel rack and blew on it to clear away the dust before sliding the large ammunition container in his C8 carbine, quickly checking his ACOG scope and laser sight while he was at it.

The Adjudant, to the soldier's right, handed him a full belt of grenades.

Phosphorous ordnance, mostly, with two frags, "Planning a Bar-BQ, sir?" Wozniak scoffed while attaching the belt to his body armor.

The suit was simple and light, built by Pacific Safety Products for police use, the neck guard and short sleeves had gotten the young operator's attention the moment he'd been asked to pick his gear. He had gone for the usual CADPAT camo pattern and a wore a tank top under the t-shirt-like suit, keeping him light on his feet and showing off his small but athletic build. Not for the good looks, but intimidation purpose. The other four members of the Cain team had selected similar suits from different makers, each with its own perks, quirks and oddities.

"A mission isn't over 'till someone or something blows up, kiddo." For example, the adjutant wore a MILTAC suit, thicker, heavier and visually much more imposing. The thing had side armor, something very few high mobility unit operators liked, but the Adj was always on point and people kept trying to stab him in the ribs, causing the man to say 'Fuck it' and work out non-stop until he could be fielded dressed like a fucking tank.

The Lieutenant, Vostok, wore a cut down suit of armor originally meant for Explosive Ordnance Disposal teams, no steel plates, just advanced polymer that made usually had her mistaken for a guy.

Finally, Park, the team's medic, technician and all around geek, wore a very light Kevlar vest over a simple t-shirt which, with her BDU pants and baseball cap, made her look like a civilian contractor most of the time.

"I dunno," Park piped in, tossing a pair of clips for her P90 in her breast pockets, "I've always been a fan of getting the job done and going home."

They were standing in a C-130 plane, heading for a mall in Florida. Well, they were, the C-130 wasn't exactly going to be shopping with them.

Overnight, the U.S. had been invaded by weird ass cannibal rioters and, a few weeks afterward, went completely silent. Canada had closed its borders after the main flow of refugees had gone through and the riots had yet to show any sign of spreading north, but CANSOFCOM wasn't content with the sit and watch attitude. They wanted to know more about what the fuck the 'ricans had gotten themselves into this time and were dispatching a JTF2 brick to investigate. Cain team was only a chunk of that brick, tasked with checking out a week old USSOCOM report that spoke of a bunch of survivors atop a mall in Florida. Not a rescue, just intel gathering.

Whatever had happened to the 'infected' was clearly not average flu or heroin abuse; it was mass psychosis and anyone not touched by it would have some answers.

Wozniak squeezed between the crates and made his way to the rear ramp. They had grabbed a plane headed for Mexico with humanitarian aid crates. A peace effort plane swerving a little out of its way to drop four warfighters over a population center had a nice ring to it, in the Corporal's opinion.

"We clear?" The team leader shouted, already waiting for the team near the ramp's control systems. Her full-face visor and gas-mask made it impossible to see her face, but she sounded upset.

Oz checked his 'chute and swallowed, trying to get that ice cube out of his throat, "Clear, El-Tee!" to him, his voice sounded high-pitched and tense, but Vostok didn't seem to notice it and just nodded. Behind the rookie, Adj and Park were lining up, waiting for the ramp to open and the kid to jump before they followed.

Oz was young, by the Joint Task Force standard, he was a pre-teen, at twenty five and with eight years of active duty. He still had more active duty time under his belt than Park, who was thirty two and a UQAM graduate, but he was far from the twenty two years Adj had under his belt, or the seventy-two high-risk missions the LT had scored before hitting her fortieth birthday.

On the other hand, he was one of the youngest operator in the history of the JTF2 and that earned him some respect right off the bat.

The ramp opened, Oz hesitated and Adj kicked the boy off the plane before leaping after him.

Respect didn't mean you could sleep on the job.

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Adj was far ahead, squeezing past the habitation blocks rooftops before the others had gone halfway down. Just as well, that meant he had the luxury of not aiming.

The C9's muffled shots echoed in the empty street like a malfunctioning lawn mower.

Walking corpses died before they even saw their prey.

There were a dozen that he could see, fumbling around the neatly parked cars aimlessly. It was like nothing had happened, these people could have been average people going to work, hadn't most of them been in an advanced state of decomposition.

He landed in the bed of a Ford F-150 and used the cabin as support for his SAW.

Vostok touched down next, ten meters behind the gunner, her own gun spewing sub-sonic ammunition at targets he could not see. The shots died after a second and she reached the car just as Oz landed, fifty meters off target and dead in the middle of an intersection. The circulation light above his head shone green as he fought with his 'chute, went yellow when he took a look around himself and burned a bright red just as he began running faster than a man packing so much gear should have.

From either sides of the intersection, crazies poured in after the kid, screaming like teenagers getting their first tattoo.

"Pfft, Oz' a real people person, ain't he?" Adj scoffed, lining up his gun with the running operator while Vostok opened the passenger door of the pickup, aiming her .408 Chey Tac between in the space between the door and the truck's frame.

"Ass like that, doesn't surprise me." The leader laughed, lining up the first shot.

Oz had grenades, but he'd been told not to used them until they were compromised.

Poor kid didn't realize being chased by three dozens of flesh eating psychos qualified as being compromised.

"Inhak." Vostok whispered, grinning, "Hold, Adj." She added, still smiling under her helmet.

"Holding." The old man growled, not liking the LT's little game one bit.

Oz leapt on a Mazda and ran across the parked car unto another. Two infected followed, Vostok started killing off those running on the sides.

The soldier spotted a dark figure out the corner of his eye, running on all fours and growling ferociously. The thing was almost a meter tall and a bit under twice as long, its claws clicking against the hot concrete.

Oz leapt the gap between the car and a parked motorcycle, running atop the bike with plenty of curses. Between there and the truck was nothing but sun bathed asphalt and dust, and the things behind him were practically breathing down his neck.

Most of the rest had been picked off by the lieutenant, however, leaving only the three on Oz' heels.

Three psychos hell bent on chewing your face was still too much to the soldier, however, and that was without counting the thing still running parallel to him.

He crashed more than he leapt and although everything he'd been taught said to roll, he just stumbled and kept himself from crashing face first with both hands.

The infected were sticking to his ass like flies, if he ran now, they'd get him from behind and he'd be fucked, so the operator unsheathed his knife and spun to face his pursuers in one swift move.

As it turns out, swift was not fast enough, as by the time he turned around, the first infected had already gotten her spine torn out and the second had his brains forced out by a 5.7×28mm round.

He flipped the knife in his palm and threw it at the last creature's face, the steel imbedded deeply within the thing's nose.

Park lowered her gun and grinned at the sight; Wozniak sitting on the asphalt, panting like a seal, Inhak, the Alaskan Malamute, sitting on top of a dead zombie, chewing on the thing's spine.

"Good puppy." Vostok scoffed. She climbed in the truck from the passenger door and dragged herself to the driver seat. The keys were nowhere to be seen, so she drew her knife and got to work.

K9 units weren't exactly standard within the Joint Task Force, but Park's boyfriend raised some of the best sled, guard and attack dogs in Canada, Inhak was his best in all of these; The dog'sabove average intelligence, hundred pounds of pure muscles and fangs, thick fur and the most advanced K9 flak jacket the JTF2 could get all made this prime specimen of man's best friend the deadliest motherfucker in a ten kilometers radius.

Adj lowered his gun and whistled twice, causing Inhak to perk his ears and tilt his head, "C'mere, boy!" he called, clapping his hands.

As Park helped Wozniak back on his feet, the dog trotted across the street and climbed out back with Adj.

"Well," Oz groaned, dusting himself off, "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

The pickup roared to life and Vostok popped in to view, behind the windshield "Shut up and get in here, you big baby!" She called from the still open passenger door.

Park scoffed and jogged the distance to the truck, "Shotgun!" She chirped, climbing in the cabin next to the LT.

"I ain't getting paid enough for this shit." Inhak barked his approbation and Adj helped Oz up, "Yeah, I guess you ain't either." He scoffed, taking a sit next to the bloodied dog.


End file.
